


We Rise In The Dying

by SecondFromTheRight



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bellamy's POV, F/M, Set early season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 20:03:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15714129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondFromTheRight/pseuds/SecondFromTheRight
Summary: “No, not what he was,” he interrupts her, bringing her eyes to his. “Who he was. What was he like as a dad?”“Best dad ever,” she says quietly, a small smile touching her lips. The hard, defensive shell disappears as she lets him in again and Bellamy feels warmth in his chest that he’s salvaged this, that she still trusts him enough to talk about this. He feels that usefulness that moments with Clarke have often inspired in him. “I know that’s…” she trails off, shaking her head before starting again. “I knew he was great. I knew I was…lucky. Privileged,” she adds pointedly with a small grin, teasing. Bellamy can’t stop the responding smile he gives back. “But I didn’t really appreciate him enough,” she continues, her grin turning soft again. “He was always encouraging me. Even things that weren’t going to lead anywhere, that other people might have thought were a waste of time, or resources. Like my drawing. But he always supported me.”It's the anniversary of the death of Clarke's dad; Bellamy notices.





	We Rise In The Dying

**Author's Note:**

> This is complete, but there will be some kind of sequel.

It’s only when she snaps at Riley of all people like she thinks he’s an idiot that Bellamy realises Clarke has been short with people all day. Easily aggravated, little patience. Something’s definitely up with her, but he doesn’t know if it’s just the pressure of the nearing end of the world they’re dealing with or if there’s more to it. He keeps an eye on her, more aware of the way she tenses her jaw like she’s trying to keep back anger, the way she doesn’t keep her focus on people as they talk to her, and the way she seems to find endless tasks needing done but makes each interaction she has as short as possible. By the 3rd time he sees her about to give someone attitude, he saves Harper from the Griffin wrath by interrupting and sending her to help Monty. He gets a bit of a glare from Clarke for the effort, followed by her quickly looking away. Bellamy takes it to mean she’s noticed him noticing, and isn’t going to offer any explanation for her mood, but he tries anyway.

“You doing okay?” He asks softly.

She raises her eyebrows, putting on a casual air he doesn’t buy for a second. “Fine.” She replies with a lick of her lips as she pointedly looks away from him.

Bellamy subtly nods. “If you want to talk about it.” He offers.

“I said I’m fine.” She snaps at him, turning to face him again.

He stares back at her silently, pushing her. Maybe he’s the only one who would, but he’s realised he really can’t help himself when it comes to her.

She looks away first, looking down and staring at the floor. “I think I might…” She stops, raising her head to meet his eyes again. “I think I might take a break. Do you mind?”

“I got this.” He reassures her.

She nods. “Thanks, Bellamy.” She says quietly, putting a hand on his forearm as she passes him.

He tries not to turn and watch her leave, wondering what’s up with her.

 

He finds out it’s not something that’s happened as much as when it happened when he goes to check on her in the Chancellor’s office later. He hears her mom’s voice before hers, Abby coming through on the radio.

“I know today is difficult but Clarke, honey, your father would be so proud of you.”

“Don’t!” Clarke says with bite.

“Clarke –“

“Mom, I just can’t right now,” Clarke replies, cutting Abby off. Bellamy finally sees her as he reaches the door, she’s hunched over the table with a hand on her head. “Just…just keep us updated?” she requests in a calmer voice. “And…and stay safe, both of you. Over.” Placing the radio down, she lets out a deep sigh, rubbing at her forehead.

Maybe he should leave her alone, but he can’t ignore the pull he feels to stay, to comfort, to try to help her.

“Was he like you?” he asks from the doorway.

Clarke jumps at his voice, standing to full height and turning to him. “Bellamy,” she breathes, acknowledging him. “What?” she questions with a shake of her head, her eyebrows dipping in confusion.

Bellamy bites down on his lip to keep from smiling at her reaction, startling before going right back to leader, demanding. “Your dad,” he clarifies as he steps into the room. “I figured you get your stubbornness from your mom but maybe it was a combination?”

She smiles softly before answering. “I think with him it…was more like conviction. Something good.” She replies with a slight shrug. “He was everything good, you know? Fair, honest, smart, decent, principled.” Her mood changes, the upturn of the corner of her lips drops, the peaceful smile falling away displaying the loss as she turns her back on him and leans over the table again. “It’s two years today since he was floated,” She stares down at the table. “It’s stupid. What holidays, anniversaries do we mark anymore? I think Unity Day was the last one and look how that turned out.” She adds sadly.

“I think Unity Day was the last time I saw you really smile,” Bellamy says walking towards her, remembering joking with her about having some fun while they still could. He remembers that smile because it was the first time he thought she wouldn’t always think of him as a frustration to put up with, that she could and maybe even would choose to have fun with him. There was an honesty, something unburdened in that smile that Bellamy doesn’t think he’s seen in her since. He’s sure he saw possibility in that smile, possibility for them. He tries not to think about it, but he can’t let it go either. “Until, you know.” He adds, thinking about everything else that happened that day, and after. The fight that’s never seemed to stop.

“Until it went to hell like it always does?” she comments with a high-pitched raise of her voice. “Yeah.” She sighs heavily, placing her hands on the table, her eyes are trailing over the papers in front of her, but he can’t tell if she’s taking any of the information in or even concentrating on any of it.

“Even if he hadn’t been floated, if he hadn’t been one of the ones to sacrifice himself in the culling, if he’d survived the drop…” Clarke pauses as she stares down, seemingly to steel herself. The only movement is the slight rise and fall of her hunched shoulders, her breathing deepening. Bellamy stays quiet, ignoring the knot of guilt that he constantly carries that tightens at the mention of the culling. He watches Clarke, waiting for her to finish her thought. She shakes her head before continuing. “If he was alive…he probably wouldn’t recognise me as his daughter anyway.”

“That’s not fair.” He counters, trying to keep his voice soft.

“Isn’t it?” she pushes herself off the table and turns to him. “I was determined to do what he was trying to do, what he thought was right and tell everyone that life support on The Ark was failing. What he died for.” She says strongly.

“And you tried. Isn’t that what got you on the dropship in the first place? Into isolation?” he questions, knowing it’s the case.

Clarke gives a single shake of her head as she looks away, dismissing what he’s said. “Let the people decide what to do,” she continues with a sarcastic twist of her mouth, carrying on as if he didn’t say anything. “Bellamy, we’re back on The Ark, running out of air. Again,” she meets his eye. “Our environment cannot sustain us all,” she pauses. “Did I do what my dad was floated for trying to do, what he believed was right? Let the people decide?” her eyes tear up but she keeps looking at him and Bellamy refuses to look away from her. “No,” she shrugs, her voice cracking. “No,” she repeats, swallowing back her upset. “I did what the Council would have done, did do.”

“You didn’t float, kill, Raven for speaking against you. That’s what the Council would have done. That’s what they did,” he argues back. Maybe some of what they’re dealing with now is similar, but it’s not going down the same. They're not the same.

Clarke shakes her head again, bringing her arms up and folding them across her chest as she circles on the spot before she fully turns and walks away until he’s staring at her back.

“It could easily turn into chaos if we told everyone. We’ve seen it before,” he tries to comfort. She hangs her head and Bellamy assumes she’s sharing some of the same memories he is. “It isn’t always the best way,” He reiterates, remembering when she came to understand that for the first time, on that cliff edge. He steps towards her when she doesn’t say anything. “Clarke.” He says when he reaches her.

There are tears under her eyes when she turns back around.

“Bellamy, my father wanted to save everyone,” she stares up at him, her arms still firmly wrapped around herself. “All I’ve done since we got to the ground is decide who not to save.”

“You’re still trying to save everyone, Clarke, like you always have. The Ark is still the back up plan,” Bellamy continues trying to get through to her. He thinks maybe it’s working when she bows her head instead of arguing back. She loosens one of her arms, quickly wiping away the tears on her face. “It’s not as easy as fixing things by telling everyone. At this point we need leadership, and you’re doing that. And that’s hard, and…and it’s not fair. You’ve made difficult choices that others couldn’t and you see it through,” He risks putting a hand on her upper arm, near her shoulder, glad when she doesn’t tense or shrug him off. “I couldn’t. I’m selfish,” he adds, continuing when he sees her frown “If it came down to everyone else or Octavia…” he trails off, both of them knowing what’s left unsaid.

Clarke finally looks up, meeting his eyes, but her expression is one he can’t read. She frowns at him, looking sad but soft at the same time. “That’s not selfishness, Bellamy,” she says gently, slowly, as she stares at him. “That’s love. You love.”

Bellamy feels like his breath, his speech, is stolen as her wide eyes pierce into his. He only gets tthem back when her focus drops away from him, her head lowering and tilting away. He tries to work out what just happened, what she’s saying. “You think you can’t love?” he finally asks with shallow breath. That can’t…that can’t be what she believes. “Clarke.” He says with urgency; his hand going from her upper arm to cup her face and turn her towards him before he realises he’s doing it.

Clarke closes her eyes, shutting him off again, but she leans into his hand that still cups her cheek, making him realise he’s touched her so intimately. His hand suddenly locks up, a burning where his skin touches hers. Before he can react any more she covers his hand with her own, pressing herself against his hand, turning her head so she practically nuzzles into him. “Which loved one have I not sacrificed or been prepared to at some point, Bellamy?” she questions with a catch in her voice as she opens her eyes again.

Bellamy almost feels the impact of her words, of her eyes staring at him, hitting him in the chest.

“Is this about Finn?” he asks, regretting it immediately when she tenses underneath his hand and blinks her focus away to something behind him. He doesn’t know if her response implies it is or isn’t about their dead friend. “That was his choice, Clarke. And it was the Grounders who demanded it.” Bellamy insists, trying to make it better, trying to bring her back to being open with him.

It doesn’t work. Clarke takes her hand off his, his own falling away without the pressure of hers. Bellamy watches her close herself off again, right in front of him. She swallows as she takes a step back before she looks at him again, her head held high.

“Thanks for checking on me, Bellamy, but I’m fine.” She says politely, dismissively with her chin raised. A distant, defiant commanding air about her. He recognises it from when they first landed on the ground. The Princess.

Bellamy nods to himself, putting his hands on his hips as he turns away and looks around the room to his side, accepting the lost moment. Maybe he even made it worse by criticising The Grounders. He can push her, maybe get under her skin enough to get a reaction. He knows he can, but he decides it isn’t worth it right now. He doesn’t want to upset her, especially not on a day like today where she already feels the weight of all her memories, regrets. And there can’t be a split between them right now, they need to be on the same side, in this together if they have any chance. He’s not going to risk the partnership they’ve reformed since Polis. He doesn’t think he could stand it. He’s already without Octavia, wondering if she’ll ever even talk to him again. A rift with Clarke could tip him over the edge. But he doesn’t want to leave things like this either, ignoring everything they’ve worked together for, everything they’ve been together, since he first saw that attitude from her. He doesn’t want to leave like nothing’s changed when everything has changed since then. He doesn’t want to disappoint her, again. And he doesn’t want to leave her alone.

“Do you want to talk about him?” he asks, facing her again. “Your dad,” He clarifies when she frowns at him with disapproval, as if he’s ignored her command. The forced attitude keeping him at bay seems to drop as she thinks about it. “What was he like?” he pushes, taking advantage of the crack.

“He was an engineer –“

“No, not _what_ he was,” he interrupts her, bringing her eyes to his. “ _Who_ he was. What was he like as a dad?”

“Best dad ever,” she says quietly, a small smile touching her lips. The hard, defensive shell disappears as she lets him in again and Bellamy feels warmth in his chest that he’s salvaged this, that she still trusts him enough to talk about this. He feels that usefulness that moments with Clarke have often inspired in him. “I know that’s…” she trails off, shaking her head before starting again. “I knew he was great. I knew I was…lucky. _Privileged_ ,” she adds pointedly with a small grin, teasing. Bellamy can’t stop the responding smile he gives back. “But I didn’t really appreciate him enough,” she continues, her grin turning soft again. “He was always encouraging me. Even things that weren’t going to lead anywhere, that other people might have thought were a waste of time, or resources. Like my drawing. But he always supported me.”

“Do you have a picture of him, a drawing?” he asks with hope that she does. He knows she draws, everybody’s known that since they were all back at the dropship, common knowledge somehow, but he’s never seen her workings.

“Yeah. I mean, in my room, yeah.” She replies with a casual shrug.

“Oh.” Bellamy mumbles with a nod, a single nod of his head and tightening of his lips, accepting he’s not going to see it, see any drawing of hers. Not tonight. And that this is over for the night. He can’t bring himself to take the cue and leave though, instead he stands and stares almost in a daze.

He almost misses her casually asking “Wanna see?”

He turns his head to look at her, his eyes scanning her face before the word “Yeah.” Croaks from his throat. She gives him a small, half-smile in return before she walks out of the office and he finds himself following her.

 

Bellamy’s never really been in Clarke’s room before, only calling on her a couple of times in the morning, but usually she’s not there, already up and working on how to get them out of this new mess. She’s had one for so little of the time they’ve been on the ground. She never really settled here like the rest of them did, never spent much time truly inhabiting the space of the Ark on the ground, not as Camp Jaha or as Arkadia. He was always so aware of it, when she was gone, so many of his physical connections to her outside of camp. And since they got back she’s still rarely in her room, even though she finally has one. She spends most of her time in the Chancellor’s office, the med bay or running around the place looking for someone, catching up on something, checking something. He’s sure she still hasn’t settled here. Maybe she won’t until after the deathwave comes when there’s only 100 of them again and she’ll have to, not able to go outside again.

Stepping inside her room feels both like something intimate, like he’s crossing some kind of boundary, and like he’s just looking at an unoccupied room. It’s only because she’s standing right next to him, because she invited in him and he knows it’s her room that it feels like something personal. But at first glance there’s nothing to indicate it’s hers. It’s bland, standardised, the opposite of the person who sleeps in it.

He takes another look as Clarke goes to the table in the corner and rummages under a small pile of stuff. Standing awkwardly, he notices a long black coat hanging over her chair that he recognises as hers, though this is the first time he’s seen it here.

Clarke walks back towards him with a large, black book in her hand. She side-steps him and takes a seat on the bed, leaving Bellamy hovering and feeling every bit the idiot for it. Either she doesn’t notice his discomfort or is unaffected by it because she sits there and concentrates on opening the book on her lap, only looking up at him expectedly when he’s sure the silence is about to consume him.

“Sit down, Bellamy.” She says, turning back to her book as she flips a couple pages.

He’s happy for the order, not even annoyed about the amusement he’s sure he saw on her face.

“So that’s where the blonde comes from? I wondered if maybe it had skipped a generation,” he muses as he looks at the sketch of her dad, minimal shading of his hair. “It’s good,” he adds before turning to look at her. “That you have this. It’s good you can remember.”

Clarke’s lips curl into a soft smile. “Do you… I could draw your mom?” she offers, shocking him. “I can’t promise it will be the best resemblance – I usually only draw people I know, but if you describe her…maybe we can come up with something?”

Bellamy blinks as he stares down at the sketchbook. “Uh, dark hair.” He finally stumbles out with a frown.

“Well, I assumed.” She says light-heartedly, turning to a fresh page, flipping past other dark sketches she's done. Bellamy thinks one of them might have been Lexa.

“Long and straight,” he continues, clearing his throat, trying not to think about Clarke drawing Lexa. “Like uh, to here.” He touches her arm to show the length. His eyebrows furrow, feeling awkward and annoyed with himself for it.

Again, Clarke doesn’t share his discomfort, her usual, competent handling showing. "Like Octavia's," she nods instead. “Smile?” she asks, not having put charcoal to paper yet.

Bellamy pauses, his eyes focusing on the blank sheet as he thinks about his mom. “I remember her more…serious, than smiling. Thoughtful, I guess.” He tries to explain, wondering how happy she was, if she ever was. He does remember her smile. It was a wide, full smile, but she was always so worried, always warning both him and Octavia. He remembers once when Octavia laughed, loud and wonderful. His mom reacted like he did at first, with the same awe, but then fear quickly took over and she told Bellamy to quieten her laugh like he had to her cries. After that, even laughing had to be controlled, simmered down. Happiness wasn’t worth anyone finding Octavia. None of their happiness.

“Okay,” Clarke acknowledges quietly, seemingly oblivious to where his mind is. Bellamy wonders if this is actually a really bad idea. “Shape of her face?” Clarke asks, looking at him for answers.

He’s silent at first, not sure what to say. He can’t say he’s ever thought about the shape of her face. “Uh,” he shifts, finding himself almost scowling down at the page now. He’s failing her in memory, failing her memory.

“Did she look like Octavia?” Clarke asks like a suggestion. “Or more like you?”

“Me, I guess?” he thinks. “Octavia has her cheekbones though.” He adds.

“I think you might both take after her there.” Clarke turns and smiles at him and Bellamy wonders if she’s looked at him and thought about the shape of his face.

“Eyes, nose?” she asks, looking back to the page.

“Uh,” he finds himself looking at Clarke’s profile, at her nose. Hers is small, maybe kind of button like. Not like his mother’s “Pointed nose?” he offers, wondering if that’s the right way to put it. Clarke’s responding nod helps.

She turns to face him again and he sees her looking at him, her eyes trailing down his face. He has to force himself to sit still and not react.

“Strong jawline?” she questions, seemingly with some kind of idea in mind.

Bellamy can’t help but immediately look at Clarke’s jawline as she turns away again. “Yeah.” He confirms quietly, feeling his throat catch.

“Okay,” She nods as she turns away again, putting charcoal to paper. “She wore her hair down?”

“Yeah.” He replies, watching the way her eyebrows draw together in concentration.

 

“What was she like?” Clarke echoes the question he asked her as she sketches.

“Unremarkable.” He replies without thought. It’s only the charcoal suddenly stilling the on page that makes him realise what he said. He raises his head to find Clarke looking at him with a small frown on her face. “I didn’t mean…” he sits back slightly, tilting away from Clarke. “It’s just…she was normal, you know?” he tries to explain as he looks down to the page again, avoiding Clarke’s eyes. “I mean, I guess she wasn’t really because she had a secret daughter,” he half-jokes. “But, that’s kind of the point. I think the most extraordinary thing she ever did was deliver Octavia by herself.”

“I can’t imagine.” Clarke shakes her head.

“Everything she did was for us, about us. Everything.”

“You’re both leaving quite a legacy after her,” Clarke praises. “What is it?” she questions when he doesn’t react.

Bellamy raises his head and meets her eyes. Clarke sits up straight and stares back. She looks like she wants to know, like she’s interested, and there’s not a trace of judgement there. “I didn’t want to be like her,” he whispers shamefully. “I didn’t want the only thing I’d have to show for my life to be the guardianship of someone else,” he adds, looking away again. He wets his lips. “My mother…we were everything to her. She didn’t have anyone else. How could she? Nobody else could know. No one even knew she had a daughter. No…partner, or friends,” he continues, thinking about the difference to how things are for him now, how many people he’s surrounded by all the time. “I don’t even know if she was happy,” he shakes his head sadly. “And I…” Bellamy swallows as he meets her eyes. “I was resentful, Clarke,” he declares. “I was a big brother. The most defining part of me, the only thing that made me unique, but like my mom, no one could know that. I could never…” he trails off before trying again. “Sometimes it felt like I should have been under the floor with Octavia, because I had to hide too,” he gives a small shrug, lifting one shoulder. “The most important things to me, what I felt, what I wanted, what I dreamed,” he inhales as he drops his head. “No one could know. But I loved being Octavia’s big brother,” he says, feeling the tears welling in his eyes. He can feel Clarke still next to him. “I wouldn’t have changed it. I still wouldn’t.” Clarke looks at him with her eyebrows pinched, a sad smile tugging the corner of her lips.

“Octavia’s whole life I believed – I knew – that if anybody ever saw her…that was it. And we got down here and everybody saw her,” he continues, thinking about how many of The 100 would talk about her, talk to her. Before they’d even stepped foot out of the damn dropship they were speaking her name like she was something to stare at. It never stopped; some of the guys wanting to try with her. So many of them still talking about her and what she was doing when she lashed out. “And she wanted to be seen,” he adds, remembering how many times she involved herself at the dropship. That first day when she went off with Clarke and the others. He was grateful for it at the time, 4 verses 95. She was safer that way, away from the crowd. But she never stopped standing up, speaking out, making herself the centre of whatever was going on. “That terrified me.” He says with a tremble. He’s proud of it now, he is, but the danger it puts her in still worries him. And how much danger it can put her in is still skewed by the belief he had her whole life. Though maybe it isn’t, because things are life or death down here just as much. Her standing up has saved her on the ground though, saved many of them.

“Hence untouchable Bellamy Blake,” Clarke replies. “Don’t worry,” she nudges him playfully, drawing all his attention to her. “I don’t think anybody noticed.” The way she smiles keeps his attention on her.

“You did.” He acknowledges as he locks eyes with her.

“I was looking,” she shrugs and focuses back on the sketchbook, breaking their eye contact. “But I’m pretty sure most people just thought you were an ass.” She jokes.

“I’d change some of what happened back then.” He replies, guilt seeping in again.

“Just some of it?” she questions with raised eyebrows, something like a smirk on her face.

“You know, you weren’t exactly the easiest to like at first either, princess.” He banters back.

“I wasn’t trying to be liked.” She says with a seriousness that makes him smile.

“I’m aware,” Bellamy chuckles, remembering how plain difficult she was and how much she just didn’t care that she was.

“I won you around in the end.”

“Yeah, you did.” He whispers, taking the opportunity to stare at her as she concentrates on what she’s creating. So much has changed since those first days.

“I’d take back how I was with Wells.” he muses. “I never got to fix that. I let Murphy treat him like crap. Encouraged it even.” he sighs regretfully.

“Well his best friend had been treating him like crap for a while by that point, so he was used to it,” she says with a casualness that’s forced, her pitch too high. He feels bad he brought up Wells now. She was smiling, joking, and now he’s brought it back to regrets and the people they’ve lost, the thing he was trying to take her mind off. “I don’t know how you did it, Bellamy, keep a secret by yourself for so long. When I found out about my dad, I couldn’t keep it to myself. I told Wells. And because he was the only one I told…”

“You thought he’d told Jaha.” He finishes.

Clarke nods. “But my mom was the one instead and I’m just like her, so.” She adds with the same casual tone, shrugging and tilting her head like she’s letting it just bounce off her.

“Clarke.” He tries.

“How did they find Octavia?” she asks, cutting him off and changing the subject back to him. She doesn’t even look at him, not taking her eyes away from what she’s working on. “She was at a dance?”

Bellamy wonders how she could know that at first, but then he remembers Niylah barging into her own room with anger aimed at him, obviously overhearing Raven when ALIE was in control. Clarke probably heard it all too. All of it, including the remarks about his dedication to her. Maybe he should feel more embarrassed than he does by that, but he doubts there’s anyone who doesn’t realise the extent of his loyalty to Clarke by now. And he’s okay with it, because it’s where he wants to be. It’s where he feels most right. He feels like he can be honest, with her.

“It was my fault,” he starts with the thing that matters most about what happened. “There was a masquerade dance in our station. I was working it,” Clarke stops and turns to him with a frown. “Guard cadet,” he explains, watching her take that in. “I thought it would be okay. That I could get her out of there if there something went wrong,” he sighs. “But there was a random check and…and I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t do anything as they took her away. And then they came for our mom and…” he hangs his head. “It was my fault.” He repeats, his fault like so many things. Because he didn't think.

“It probably saved Octavia’s life, Bellamy.” Clarke says, surprising him.

“What?”

Clarke stops the drawing and turns to him. “If they had found her after she was 18…they probably would have floated her. Especially when they were running out of air. They really weren’t looking for excuses to be lenient.” She explains with some resentment.

“But she…” Bellamy shakes his head, trying to comprehend.

“It’s happened before,” Clarke says. “Wells told me,” she adds quietly with a twist of her lips. “That dance might be why she’s still alive.”

“And my mom?”

Clarke looks away briefly, staring down at the drawing she’s created. “That was something that was already decided. When the laws were made. When she decided to have Octavia,” she raises her head to look at him. “It wasn’t because of anything you did, Bellamy. Those were choices made a long time ago, and not by you, or Octavia,” She meets his eyes. “It wasn’t your fault.” She reiterates, her eyes wide with sincerity as she tries to make her point.

Bellamy stares back at her, wanting to believe her. His focus finally flits away from her eyes as he looks down, and to the sketch. “Being down here…” he starts. “I’ve been able to be…something else, realise other parts of me, have other people in my life that I…care about,” he pauses, stumbling somewhat. He knows it would be obvious to pretty much everyone here that he’s referring to her, but he wonders if she’s one of the few it isn’t so obvious to. Or maybe she doesn’t want to know. He sighs, refocusing his thoughts. “But I still want to be her big brother, Clarke,” he says as he meets her eyes again. “I don’t know how not to be, and I don’t want to know, even if she doesn’t want me to be her brother anymore.”

“She’ll come around, Bellamy,” Clarke assures him. “The ground let her find other parts of herself too. Experience things she hadn’t before. Freedom, for her. Lincoln was the connection to everything she discovered of herself here. He was her world. And now she has to figure out who she is again, without him.” She gives a sad smile.

“She doesn't even want to be around me.”

“She’s angry, and she’s grieving,” Clarke corrects calmly. “It will take a while,” she turns her attention to her sketchbook again. Placing her thumb on the page with his mother’s drawing, she flips back some to the one of her dad. “It’s supposed to.” She whispers, staring down.

How long, he wants to ask. Before the world ends? Again.

“I think my mom and Kane are together.” Clarke says slowly, her eyes still boring into the drawing.

Bellamy stills, not sure how to handle the change in subject. “Yeah, that uh, that wouldn’t surprise me,” he says slowly. “You okay with that?”

“Yeah. They seem…good for each other. And I want her to be happy. I just…” she turns, her eyes finding his again. The reassurance from before has been replaced with something vulnerable. “It’s only been two years, Bellamy.”

Bellamy smiles sadly. “Maybe it would be different on The Ark but down here…a year here has felt like a lifetime.” He tries, thinking of all those changes again.

“Or two.” Clarke acknowledges with an arch of her eyebrow.

“When you were gone, he looked out for her.” Bellamy offers.

“Yeah?”

“I uh, I went into the Chancellor’s office, the day we…heard intel on you, actually,” he wets his lips, trying not to think too much about what else happened that day. “Kane was mapping on a board and he uh,” he blinks, tilting his head and giving a confused smile. “He shhed me because your mom was asleep on the couch.”

Clarke’s lips quirk the smallest amount before she nods.

“I thought that would help?” he questions, wondering about her lack of reaction.

“It does,” she says, her eyebrows knitting together as she looks at him. “Thank you.”

“But?”

She presses her lips together and looks at him with an expression he can’t read fully. She almost looks scared. Her eyes shine with tears. “Two years to love someone else.” She shrugs with one shoulder.

Bellamy stares at her, kind of stunned. He wants to push her, figure out if this is about her mom, or about her, but how quickly she shut down earlier replays in his mind. He doesn’t know what this is. Before he decides what to do, she’s breaking their eye contact and has the page with the latest drawing open again.

“How does it look?” she asks him.

“It’s good,” he praises, letting her move the subject on. It’s weird to look at the sketch, to see his mother. It’s pretty accurate.

“She was pretty,” Clarke compliments. “I mean, it’s not surprising considering the genes you and Octavia clearly share,” she says with a smile, all traces of her upset gone. “What?” she asks when he looks at her.

“I know I don’t have the right to say this…” he pauses, hoping he can push her this much at least. He can’t let today go without saying it. “But your father would be proud of you, Clarke.”

“Bellamy.” She sighs, shifting and physically leaning away from him.

“No,” he says with some force, causing her to turn to him. “He would be,” he repeats, glad she’s listening at least. “You’ve done everything you can to save everyone, since we landed.”

Clarke’s eyes tear up again. “I miss him.” She whispers with a tremble.

He covers her hand with his own. “I know.” He says understandingly as he looks down at the face of his mother.

Clarke sniffs, hooking her thumb over his before lifting her hand away. “Here.” She says, going to tear out the page.

“Wait,” he stops her. “Leave it.”

“You don’t want it?” she asks with a frown, looking down at the drawing and Bellamy is sure there’s rare insecurity on her face. He hates that he’s the one that put it there.

“It should stay in the book…with the others,” He tries to explain, hoping she’ll understand. He gives a small shrug. “I guess I like the idea of it being in the book.” It’s probably stupid, as if his mother suddenly has friends because her picture is in a sketchbook with others, but putting it on his wall to stand out alone, or folding it away with his things doesn’t feel right.

“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.” Clarke accepts, pulling her hands away from the page and closing the book over instead.

He pushes himself off the bed and stands up. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”

Clarke gives him a half-smile as she looks up at him. “Bellamy?” she calls just as he moves towards the door.

He turns back around to face her. “Yeah?”

“You’re a good brother, Bellamy,” Clarke says. He looks away and shakes his head, but he doesn’t argue it. “You are, but it’s not what makes you special,” she continues, making him look to her again. “I couldn’t have done any of it without you,” she states, taking his breath, again. “Others helped. A lot. But…” her eyes drop away from his briefly. “It had to be you.” She says quieter.

He inhales before speaking. “I guess we make a good team,” He offers with a small smile, trying to keep it light, but still real. She smiles back at him, the first full one that he can read in her eyes. “Night, Clarke.”

“Night, Bellamy.”

He takes one last look at her before making his way down the hallway. She’s still sitting on her bed, staring down at the book on her lap, her hand flat on the cover. Letting out a sigh he finally turns away from her, not sure how much he helped. If he helped. She wasn’t snapping at him by the end, at least, and she opened up. That has to count for something. He hopes it does.

When he gets back to his own room and looks around at the stuff he’s gathered for himself, he somehow thinks his room is the lifeless one, and not Clarke’s. There are things, belongings, a lot that says someone clearly inhabits the space, but there’s nothing really of importance. Definitely nothing sentimental, anyway. Everything that means anything to him is wrapped up in a physical person.

He won’t forget about any of the people they’ve lost. Especially not the ones he bares some responsibility for, like Lincoln. Even the ones he didn’t know, like Clarke’s dad. He won’t forget about any of them. He can’t. But the ones most important to him are still alive. That’s enough for today, and it’s what will make him fight for a tomorrow. It's what makes him want to experience a tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I'll be honest, I wrote this because of my own similar anniversary that falls this time of year, so I was in that headspace. I find it especially significant when those closest to you never knew the person lost, hence some of the conversation in this.
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


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